I swirl the glass of wine in front of me and try to disguise the twist in my stomach at Margaret’s comments. She seems to think her mistake was so funny – as if someone like ‘only me’ would be married to someone like Aidan Murphy with all his finery. I take a sip of the wine to give my hands something to do, but it tastes sour in my mouth. I’d been enjoying it up until now, but since Margaret’s outburst itnow tastes just like a reminder that Aidan is from a very different world to the one we live in up on Teapot Row.
‘So, how is life treating you in the good old United States?’ asks Margaret, thirsty for more information and totally ignoring the fact that Ben and I are even there now. ‘How is the lovely Rebecca?’
I can tell Aidan is doing his best to be polite as he fakes a smile in her direction. He hasn’t mentioned his wife or family in America to me, and I fear he is being put on the spot with Margaret’s questions.
‘My wife,Rachel, is very, very well,’ he says, nodding his head and giving her a wink. ‘Thanks for asking. I’ll pass on your good wishes when I get back home in the next day or so.’
He clears his throat and his eyes skirt around him, trying, I guess, to nip old Margaret in the bud, but she hasn’t finished yet.
‘Oh please do give her my regards! We’ve never met, but you know I saw her father Bruce interviewed on the TV when I was in New York last year! What a wealthy man! Imagine you’re married to his daughter! Any little ones to carry on his great legacy?’ she asks, glancing at Ben and then back at Aidan. ‘I’m not sure if Mabel told me. I’m sure she would have?’
Aidan’s discomfort is tangible now and it’s with great relief to us all that our food arrives, thankfully giving Margaret a nudge to move on without interrogating him any further.
‘No. No little ones to report, but it’s been nice to see youagain, Margaret,’ Aidan says through gritted teeth. ‘Now, Roisin and Ben – we’d better eat this up before it gets cold. Bon appétit!’
Margaret takes the hint and moves on, repeating her good wishes and almost dancing off as if she’d just met her teen idol, leaving an uncomfortable wave of silence at our table in comparison to the relaxed chat we’d been enjoying before.
‘What a nosey old bat,’ he says, which almost shifts the mood by making Ben laugh, and I pick up on the opportunity to get back to remembering Mabel, just as we were earlier, but despite my efforts of telling stories of the time we went ice skating, to our days picnicking by the lake, Aidan has closed up again and I can feel his urgency to get away from here as fast as possible.
The evening passes with stilted efforts to converse, and at almost seven thirty I realize I still have to iron Ben’s school uniform, make sure he has all his books ready after his brief absence from school for the funeral, and make up his lunch for the next morning, so I’m glad, as is Aidan, when it’s time to get the bill and make our way back home to my own little haven on Teapot Row.
‘It was very kind of you to treat us this evening,’ I say to him for the third time when we reach our garden gate. ‘Ben had a ball and so did I. Please don’t let people like Margaret Madden get to you, Aidan. Some people reallyarejust nosey neighbours around here, and your private business in America is just that. Private. But try not to let it upset you.’
He kicks the snow under his feet as Ben makes his way up the path to open our front door, his fingers ‘almost frozen to death’ on the short walk home from the pub.
‘The little guy is exhausted,’ says Aidan as he watches him turn the key in the door ahead. ‘He misses his dad a lot, I’m sure, as do you too, of course.’
‘Ben really does miss his dad sometimes,’ I say, feeling a familiar twinge of emotion grip my insides as I struggle to hide how it’s not the same for me. ‘It’s so hard on him, but he’s done so well since we moved here. A fresh start and a step back from everything is sometimes the only medicine. Helps us see the wood from the trees. I know it worked for me more than I could ever have imagined.’
Aidan pushes his lips together and nods his head in agreement.
‘Did Mabel advise you to do that?’ he asks, with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
‘No, actually, she didn’t,’ I reply, looking him straight in the eye. ‘I made the decision to come here all by myself and was lucky to have landed Mabel as my next-door neighbour, but I do believe that was her advice toyouin her message earlier today – that you might need some time out?’
‘Touché!’ he says, staring across at the house he grew up in. ‘On that note, I think I’ve hung around here for long enough so I’d better get packing. Goodnight, Roisin. It’s been a nice day, all in all. Thank you.’
10.
‘You’re in a good mood!’
Until Camille points it out to me, I have absolutely no idea that I’m singing along with the radio at the top of my voice to Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Everywhere’ as I prepare a coffee for our local postman Mickey.
As well as sorting and displaying the most magnificent previously loved clothing in Truly Vintage, I also get to choose my own retro playlists, and prepare coffee and treats in a little corner by the window we call The Nook, which is only ten square feet in space, but is a little slice of heaven. The Nook hosts a coffee machine, a compact wooden trolley with all the trimmings, and just two square old school desks with dinky painted wooden chairs for those who want to shop but also stop and watch the world go by.
It has proven a popular spot for a morning visit from some of the locals who aren’t shopping but who just fancy a window seat and some company, and Mickey the postman is one of our very welcome regulars.
‘Did I see young Aidan Murphy knocking around the village?’ he asks me as I make up an Americano for him. ‘I thought he’d be long gone back to his millionaire lifestyle across the sea by now.’
It makes me smile at how the older generation still refer to Aidan as ‘young’ even though he’s definitely kicking the ass of forty, but it’s sweet at the same time.
‘I think he’s going back in the next day or so,’ I tell Mickey, fetching his favourite Danish pastry. ‘I don’t think Ballybray is big enough for someone like him, is it?’
Mickey rolls his eyes.
‘It was good enough for him for long enough,’ says Mickey, flicking open the newspaper in front of him. ‘Mind you, I don’t envy him being married into that family. I heard it’s not all as rosy out there as it might seem on the surface!’
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes, and I go back to my singing which doesn’t seem to faze Mickey, but Camille knows I’m in higher spirits than I really should be this morning, considering all the trauma of the week before.
